so many poems

will my mind ever empty

midnight moon

 in the castle

smelling the marijuana 

across the drawbridge 

 the cat

a ball of sleep

rats

 when i was a child

i had a book of a thousand things 

i have forgotten 

 hand on the cat

i try to start a seance 

who’s there

a legion of dead mice

say purrfectly still

 poetry pamphlet 

halfway through i am reading 

two staples on a spine

 above the clouds

there are more clouds

then the sky

then the moon and the stars

all the galaxies of the universe

 warming up

after a cold swim

real life returns

 anthropomorphise

as much as you want

you remain insignificant

 these lines

the stretch marks that

belie the city

 counting the hours

as blossom petals fall

the tide ebbs

 the cherry blossom

streaming in the wind

is soon gone

 every morning 

scratching the same post

the sun cat

 northeast wind

the cherry blossoms snowing

on our neighbours

 rain relentless

the monk Oyoguhito walks

between the lanterns 

 dry stone walling

adding two small wooden blocks

for the sun god cat

 taking a nap

a little bit of life

goes missing

 just one more poem

and then i’ll read the news

real tears - sniff

 the blossoms fall

we ask of ourselves 

next year?

 rubbish tip

in the long queue of cars

my life recycles

 a true window

is where you see what you are

seeing

 climate change

the old aphorisms dry 

in a flood

 walking down the stairs 

my thoughts tumble

that i must not

 septuagenarian 

repeat prescription email 

logged on my iPad

 too late

the water meadows 

are dry

 spider

crawling down my left leg

not my right

 suddenly 

a full moon

look

 sardonic 

as the language of the dunes

time flies

 the tide

always a look out 

behind you

 the flock

just dust on the lens of life

spit on the duster

truth is

a burning euphemism 

quenched with tears 

 dry stonewalling

we move the stone Buddha 

a blackbird visits

 whistling back

the birds get annoyed

... and the winner is

 drifting down stream

on an up-blowing wind

a twig circles

 when the blossoms fall

again we ask of ourselves 

where will we be?

 uneducated 

mispronouncing 

intelligence 

 the wren and the mouse move house

 in a land of walls

run down to the necklace sea

and extend your arms

 as rocks with lichen

the lavender morning enfolds

our thoughts of summer

 in a welsh shawl

the scent of palma violet 

the rub of sequins

 the pool

is the pool i am

rippling

 we are alone

in the footsteps of others

thinking

 a saucepan stand

cooking light in the corner 

of a morning

 corkscrew hazel

sparrow’s spaghetti junction

this that that this way 

 this castle tower

it is a pain in the neck

just look at it

 a glance once given

cannot be taken back 

with a smile

 cherry blossoms

sparrows continue chirping

as the petals fall

 nightfall

slowly the bay takes shape 

a thousand lanterns

 today 

biting on tomorrow 

denture fitting

 grain with no rain

pestle without a mortar 

thoughtless

zen garden

the flow of time

sits

 hover fly 

the shining cobweb 

threads my eye

 opening

it is nearly here

spring

 rarely do poets have normal thoughts 

 you’ll not get satisfaction from a man with a small piece of cake

 every wave

tearing a flake off 

the sea swimmer

 see how they hermit

in the big city towns 

invisible

 warming to a swim

in a sea of dead thoughts

is a cold comfort

 at full tide

tomorrow goes a riding

upon the tidy line

 even corruption 

is corrupted in a

disunited kingdom

 the village

pouring into the sea

stops to think

 birth then death

may i leave just one poem

over by there

 walking to school

the other side of the hedge

sunshine and laughter

 upon a whim rests life and limb

a seat 

looking out to sea

thinking 

 paperboy

delivering births and deaths

on his cycle

 sunny morning 

watching a shadow move

sleepy cat

 how pale the leaves

through the plum blossoms

snowflakes 

a minute’s silence

burning the midnight oil

the poet laureate 

           SGL2i

dried on the toilet floor

   sticky shiny drips

 slow music

stroking the cat

closes my eyes

 waiting

on a pebbled beach

your pebble

 my eye

sutured to your spirit

sings

 a frosty morning

the evangelist’s pamphlets

promise sunlight

 so many clichés

when do i get to the top

poetry mountains 

 on a cold morning

be bees on the plum blossom

blue sky pollen sun

                      reflection 

in the flowering currant

a red towel

 rhizomes

with their feet in the mud

irises rainbow

in the archeology of the gold mine lies the word sublime 

 hot soup

after a cold swim

super duper 

 a cold snap

is that snow or plum blossom

blowing around

 the weather forecast

cat was out for three minutes

snow shower spring

 tipping the ashes 

they are floating like snow

is it snowing

 above the mill pool

all the torrents of childhood

are turning the wheel

 in my log fire

all the blue nights of forest

are rising again 

 do cats blink

in the middle of my book

she asks me

 dreams

unfinished sandwiches 

curled at the edges 

 plum flowers

whiter than the clouds

thinking of summer

 painting the fence

the north wind lends a hand

thank you so much

 in the north wind

we decide to paint the fence

forthright in foresight 

 a fallen tree

the path deviates

then carries on

 unhappy easter 

covid recruitment sergeant 

masked priests thank god

 oh these buns

cinnamon in um as well

sticky lips

 morning sunshine 

it is the cat’s time of day

sun sniffing

the cat looks

that is essentially it

looks

 dust from Sahara 

covering the greenhouses

global warning

 flight simulator

alarm and the flaps go back

with the cat’s ears

 roaring storm

the sea has many pebbles

i have many thoughts